in which she reports on having a little mini emotional breakdown of sorts

It's Saturday night. It had been raining very very hard. S. and I joined up with a group of friends at a teeny tiny bar in a teeny tiny town called Merna (I had been picturing the town as though it were spelled Myrna, and I was a bit disheartened to see that I was wrong about that 'y'). When we sat down to listen to the band play, the band in which three of our dear friends played, we were both cold and wet. I drank beer to warm myself up, S. an Irish coffee. Or two.

I can't remember the last time I had three beers in one sitting. It was not in the year 2007. The effects were, in part, the little mini emotional breakdown of sorts referenced in this post's title. Of course, the beer was not the only or even the primary cause. I'd been feeling emotionally out of sorts since I returned from NYC. Tired. Old before my time. That kind of thing. And this book I'm reading--that I actually just finished--it makes me yearn and it makes me cry.

I should also mention one more factor. I asked my friend Bill how his baby girl's doing. Brooklyn was born in December, so she's about 4 months old. He told me about how happy she is every morning just to be alive, how vulnerable and how much of a joy she is. Not that he ever tended toward depression, but if he had, this baby girl would be the cure.

Back at S.'s place afterwards, around 11:30 or so. I'm lying on the couch, he's slumped on the chair. We're both exhausted. I begin a weepy conversation with, "I think I want a baby."

S.: Um, you've been saying since Day 1 how much you don't want kids.

A.: I know. I don't. But talking to Bill tonight about Brooklyn and reading this book. I don't know. It makes me want to give myself to something bigger. Belly's not gonna live forever. After work, where does a person put her energy?

NOTE: This was not all said at once, but I'm trying to get the gist of it down here. So I can remember.

S.: You put it into other people and other interests. You use it for good.

A.: I want something little to put all my energy into.

S.: I guess we could talk about this some more, though I'm not sure I really want this at this point in my life.

A., weepy: I want a baby.

S.: What's this book about again?

A.: A woman who loses her newborn baby after only one day at home. I'm haunted by it.

A few moments of silence.

A.: I don't really want a baby. I don't know what I want.

Today, in my office, I told Wonka about this conversation. Her response: You'd get a lemon. You want that happy smiling baby, but you'd get the one that stares off into space.

Me: No, I'd get the one that is so depressed she can't even lift herself up off the couch to get another Suzy Q.

Tonight I told S. that I'd told Julie about my little meltdown.

Later in the conversation:

S.: What're you gonna do tonight?

A.: Probably finish that book.

S.: Good.